Skating on the thin ice of modern life

Sunday

Dec 9, 2012 at 6:00 AMDec 9, 2012 at 6:25 AM

Dianne Williamson

I assumed that ice skating would be a snap.

Granted, I hadn’t skated in many years, not since my tween girlfriends and I would convince one of our parents that we craved the hearty joys of winter and thus required a ride to the indoor skating rink at Webster Square. Back then, we’d glide gracefully around the ice, over and over, while the song “Build Me Up Buttercup” blared from the speakers. In those days, the only scary thing about skating was when a boy asked you to pair up, and you’d be forced to feign delight while grasping a strange, clammy hand emitting 10 thousand sweat molecules per second. Or maybe that was me.

So when the city of Worcester surprised the naysayers by constructing a pretty outdoor ice rink behind City Hall, without a single snafu or even a peep out of Konnie Lukes, I couldn’t wait to take a turn. Big deal that I hadn’t skated since puberty — I was still reasonably coordinated. Sure, I was out of shape, but how hard could it be? And, on the off chance that I happened to fall, well, I’d just hop back up and hope no one noticed.

But here’s what I’ve learned after my ice skating debut at the Worcester Common Oval:

A. The older you get, the more gravity mocks you with its utter indifference to your efforts to remain upright.

B. Always wear fingerless gloves when you skate, because they enable you to claw frantically at the glass barriers before you fall.

C. Children aren’t fair, and I hate them.

The latter observation stems from the fact that kids tend to be excellent skaters, having failed to grasp the concept of fear because they happen to be stupid. At the oval, kids the size of backpacks were whizzing easily around the rink, oblivious to the potential humiliation of sprawling belly up in front of, say, a peer or a colleague such as Shaun Sutner. An avid skier, Shaun readily accompanied me to the rink because he’s unnaturally fond of any slippery surface that can send you hurtling into space.

“We’ll be skating on thin ice,” Shaun told me, a line he inexplicably believed became funnier each time, because he would also use it on the city manager, our graphic artist and the oval’s lead skate guard. (Shaun is a member of our crack investigative team and an excellent reporter, despite a penchant for puns so poor that they often alienate his sources.) “It’ll be fun. It’s a great oval. For once, the city didn’t screw something up.”

He’s right. At lunchtime on Thursday, the Worcester Common Oval was so picturesque and charming that I expected to see Hans Brinker lacing up his wooden skates. The holiday tree sparkled. Christmas music blared from the loudspeakers. The ice glistened invitingly in the sun as people twirled happily around the rink.

I was enjoying myself immensely until Shaun ruined the vibe by suggesting we put on our skates and take to the ice. He had his own; I rented a pair for a reasonable three bucks. Within minutes, Shaun was skating effortlessly around the oval with photo editor Chris Christo.

As for me, let’s just say that as an ice skater I make an excellent columnist. I hadn’t skated more than a couple of yards before my feet flew up and I fell. Then I fell again. Not only did I utterly fail to remain upright, but before each spill I flailed my arms in comic windmill fashion, thus serving as a source of entertainment for the children who darted pitying looks in my direction as they happily flew past. Boy, they were stupid.

“You’re doing great,” Christo claimed, as I fell hard on my right elbow.

“Don’t think about it,” he advised, as I skittered across the rink on my rear. I was such a bad skater that I actually collapsed while standing motionless on the ice with one hand holding the barrier. I was so bad that — this is absolutely true — a 24-year-old skater named Matthew Hardies asked if he could say a prayer for me. I let him, but it didn’t help.

“God didn’t give us the spirit of fear,” Hardies informed me.

True. Our brains did. For me, the fear set in when I tipped over the fifth time and realized that, because of advanced age, my brittle body could easily break into little pieces.

But despite the fact that my elbow has turned a fascinating shade of purple and my ego is bruised, skating at the oval was great.

“This is the type of opportunity we deserve,” said City Manager Michael O’Brien, as he took an impressive inaugural spin. “This makes a community livable. It’s good stuff.”

It really is. Which is why I’m writing about my own debut, to congratulate the city and encourage folks to head for the oval. Also, documenting my injuries in print will make it that much easier when I apply for worker’s comp.

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